


In the Dark of the Night I and II

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-15
Updated: 2000-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 15:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11338485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The first meeting of Alex and Angel. Takes place after 6th season of X-Files and 3rd season of Buffy.





	In the Dark of the Night I and II

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

In the Dark of the Night 1 - The Witching Hour by Barbara J. Webb

Disclaimers and warnings: These characters are not mine; I am only using them for fun, not for profit. This story is rated NC-17 and involves two men touching each other a lot, so if that bothers you, don't read on.  
Series: In the Dark of the Night (X-Files/Buffy)  
Pairing: Angel/Krycek  
Spoilers: Potentially for up to season 6 X-Files and season 3 Buffy  
Summary: The first meeting of Alex and Angel. Takes place after 6th season of X-Files and 3rd season of Buffy.  
Permission granted to archive wherever, just let me know, please.  
Any comments, questions, or criticism can be sent to 

* * *

"The Witching Hour"  
by Barbara J. Webb

The shadows clung to Angel like a second skin as he moved through the night-busy streets of Los Angeles. Long ago, when he was younger, it had taken thought, effort, to move through the shadows, unobtrusively skirting humanity's pulse. Now he barely thought about it - the darkness followed him when he moved; they danced together even in the neon brilliance of the city. This city. City of Angels. Now his.

She came alive at night, this city. It was not like Sunnydale, where a nameless dread sucked the energy from the town with the fading of the sun's rays. Angel already loved that about her. It was a change, and change was good. Necessary. Sunnydale needed to be put away, stored in the labyrinthine vault of Angel's memories, driven back like the demons that so often haunted its streets. If this was going to work - if leaving was going to work - Angel would have to stop thinking about Sunnydale, about the past few years, about *her*.

Buffy. There was no escaping the fact that he would love her forever, but for both their sakes he needed to exorcize the desperate need of her that even now threatened to drag him away from this throbbing, vital city and drive him back into her arms. Every reason he had given her for his needing to leave was still true, as were the many he could never say; it would be no good to either of them if he went back. Especially her, and that was what mattered. Angel would sacrifice his eternity for her, but nothing was worthwhile if his presence was causing her harm.

So he let the City of Angels call to him, took in its scent, felt it's rhythm begin to pound through him - the city's own lifebeat to replace the one he lost so long ago.

He was still in the process of re-familiarizing himself with the territory. This young, fickle city had changed since the last time he was here. Names had changed as fads had risen and fallen; centers of life and energy had shifted; the power ran differently. Tonight, Angel and the darkness drifted through the old-new streets, learning the new scent of the city.

Los Angeles was awake and thriving; week night or no, people were out in force. With only the slightest rustling sound, Angel had found a perch on the second level of a fire escape set in an alley across the street from a club he had found the night before and wanted to observe a bit more closely. He crouched down on his heels, a position no living man would have been able to hold for hours, but undead tendons didn't stretch; undead muscles didn't cramp; undead bones didn't ache at the unusual pressure put on them.

Minutes passed - twenty, thirty, forty - and Angel remained motionless in his vantage point with all the patience of the damned.

And then he was no longer alone in the alley. Four men, wearing dark denim and leather. Too old to belong here, too nervous to have good intentions. Only one looked up as they took unobtrusive positions behind boxes and piles of assorted trash, but the possessive darkness kept him hidden away like an illicit lover.

An ambush, then. Each assailant carefully inspected a massive sidearm, kept it close at hand. Angel had to wonder what creature they were expecting that was so dangerous it required five well-armed men to bring it down.

They waited. Angel waited. The men were quiet - almost as noiseless as Angel. Professionals, probably. Most men would be fidgeting a great deal more, shuffling, talking, but these sat still, patient.

A woman came into the alley, head bowed, steps hurried. Angel watched, but she traveled the length of the corridor undisturbed; the men never moved. More waiting. Two black men came from the other direction. Again, they passed the trap undisturbed. As the clock in the bank across the way approached midnight, Angel was on the verge of slipping away, leaving this mystery to the City, when a fourth person came into the alley at the far end.

Immediately, Angel could tell there was something wrong about him - something about the way he walked, the motion of it. His arm - the left one - hung stiff, didn't swing; as Angel focused on it, he decided it must be artificial. The wariness that radiated from this man, from his darting eyes, the tension of his every move, this was the next thing Angel noticed. Like a hunted animal, he seemed ready to fight or flee at the first hint of danger. But, thus far, he seemed completely unaware of the immediate danger awaiting him within the alley.

The last thing that occurred to Angel was that this young man was beautiful, truly beautiful.

Outnumbered, outgunned, and seemingly oblivious to the threat he was walking into, despite his wariness, the man kept going until he was almost directly under Angel. Here he paused, as though he sensed something. Taking a step back, he reached into his jacket with his real arm, presumably for a gun, but it was a moment too late.

They had him surrounded. Two of the goons jumped him from behind while a third grabbed at his arm. Five against one - he struggled gamely, but was quickly subdued after taking several solid blows. They pushed him down to his knees, a goon on each shoulder and another to the side with a gun leveled at the man's head. Of the remaining two, one stepped back, moving to a vantage point where he could see the near entrance of the alley. The last grabbed his victim by the chin, forcing his head up. "You shouldn't have run, Alex."

Angel continued to watch, trying to divine what was actually going on. This man was the quarry - the dangerous prey. One man, one man with one arm. Five men. Hardly fair odds. Angel shifted carefully, gauging the distance between himself and the man with the drawn weapon.

The young man stared at his captor defiantly, but said nothing. His eyes betrayed none of the fear Angel could smell radiating off him. "The old man wants you to come back. You come quietly, and he's says all can be forgiven."

"He's crazy. It's over - they'll get him too. If you were smart, you wouldn't go back either." The voice was low, soft, sensuous, even around the lip split by his attackers.

Angel dropped from the fire escape, striking at the man with the gun. Caught by surprise, he didn't even try to dodge Angel's blow. As he crumpled, Angel spun to face the other four. The speaker had fallen back, reaching for his weapon. Angel was on him before it had cleared the holster. Peripherally, he saw the victim push to his feet, nearly knocking down one of the men holding him. A shot rang out, and Angel felt a searing pain in his abdomen. The bullet passed right through him - that was going to leave a hole in his coat - and into the speaker, who fell back into a pile of boxes.

Angel kicked back at the man coming up behind him and turned in time to see their prey knocked against the alley's brick wall. He fell to the ground, unmoving, as another shot was fired by the man at the head of the alley. This one went wild.

The noise was drawing attention from outside. This couldn't continue much longer; two were down, three still standing. Angel advanced on the two close to him, both going for guns. Grabbing the closest thing with any weight - a box filled with...Angel didn't want to know what was causing that smell - Angel heaved it at the man on his right. Anticipating the gunshot from the other man, Angel ducked to the side and came up next to him, grabbing the arm holding the gun and twisting. There was a satisfying snap, and the man howled in anguish. Four dealt with.

The fifth man was gone - fled into the night. Angel wasn't going to waste any time looking for him. Over at the wall, the crumpled object of Angel's rescue was still breathing. They both needed to be gone from here, and quickly. Pulling the man up, Angel slung him over his shoulders and faded into the city.

* * * * *

Alex struggled up from unconsciousness, fighting through the waves of panic. Panic was unsafe; it would kill if you let it. He didn't struggle, didn't move more than a quickly suppressed jerk of surprise as he came awake. Too late - it seemed he had alerted his captor/s to the fact that he was regaining awareness; a heavy weight pressed down on his chest, holding him there. Alex made his body relax, go limp: just harmless little Alex Krycek, weak as a kitten after the horrible assault, no threat to anyone. Not that Alex felt like he was going to be causing anyone too much trouble - his entire body ached from the pummeling it had received.

Cautiously, slowly, Alex opened his eyes; that, at least, was not immediately painful. He was on a couch - yes, that thick springy stuff under him was a couch cushion. There was a man leaning over him; it was his hand that was the pressure on Alex's chest. Strong. Attractive. The first thought was important for survival; the second was simply a distraction.

He was watching Alex intently, bottomless dark eyes flickered over his face, inscrutable in what they found there. The attack in the alley had all happened so fast, the memory of it was shadowy, but Alex was fairly certain this was not one of his attackers. "Who do you work for?"

The man leaned back, removed his hand from Alex. "My name is Angel."

An evasion. Alex was fairly certain the man wasn't in the employ of the now defunct conspiracy - the few still loyal, who had rallied around the old man, were all agents Alex knew, old-timers like those men in the alley. All but the most intensely loyal had scattered at the death of the council, doing their best to disappear - much like Alex himself. So that left...KGB? Not likely. They couldn't find their asses with both hands, much less Alex. A free agent? But who, other than the old man, would care enough to hire someone to track him down.

At least he wasn't dead, so this guy hadn't been sent to kill him. And Alex was a firm believer that where there was life, there was...well, not hope, per se, but opportunity. "Where am I?" Back to basics, reconnoiter.

"In my apartment, on my couch." The man was tall - even with him sitting, Alex could tell that - but he moved with the speed and grace of a striking snake when Alex lifted his hand, catching at Alex's wrist. Alex froze, wary. "Your head - I bandaged it. You shouldn't touch it." Then his hand was released.

Bandaged. Not only was this man not here to kill him, he'd brought Alex into his home and given him medical attention. What kind of good-fucking-Samaritan nutcase was he dealing with? "Thanks." This was crazy.

Angel stood up, left Alex's line of sight. "If you want to stay the rest of the night, that's fine."

The implication of that statement left Alex reeling - he could stay if he wanted...or go. "You're going to just let me go?"

"There some reason I shouldn't?"

Sitting up slowly, Alex was able to contain the rush of dizziness. "This is really your place? Why did you - what are you doing?" Turning, he saw Angel in the small kitchen, washing what was probably Alex's blood off his hands. Standing, the man was incredibly tall - looming was the word that popped into Alex's head. Dark, with a melancholy that hung around his towering frame heavier than the black trench coat he was still wearing. The goth chicks probably fell all over themselves trying to get close to him.

"Five against one didn't seem fair."

Rule number one of life as Alex Krycek - if it seemed too good to be true, it probably was. "Right, well, I can tell you're a man of few words, so I won't hang around to chat." Standing wasn't easy, but it was possible. A fragile man would never have survived Alex's life; he'd been through worse and survived. Any landing you could walk away from....

Automatically, he checked for his gun, and was shocked to find it in its holster. After alien possession, global conspiracies, and secret research bases dedicated to combating the threat of extra-terrestrial invasion, few things phased Alex, but this was all just a little too weird. This man had rescued him from the old man's goons, brought him back to his own home, cleaned and dressed Alex's wounds, left Alex his gun, and was about to let Alex walk out the door without asking anything in return - even so much as an explanation.

Still at the sink, Angel pulled his shirt up; once the black material was moved, Alex could see the blood smeared over Angel's skin. It looked, to Alex's jaded eye, like a gunshot wound. "You okay?"

"I thought you were leaving."

Alex didn't answer, only moved to the sink, took the washcloth from Angel's hand. If he had been the sort of man that demanded the world make sense, this would have been driving him crazy, but Alex could play this game too. He was patient. Answers would come, or they wouldn't.

Angel's skin was cool to his touch, soft. He didn't flinch as Alex expertly cleaned the wound, both front and back. "You're lucky; the bullet went through and it looks like your clothes helped it clot. Gut wound like this, if it were going to kill you, it would have already."

"I'll be fine." Up close, Alex couldn't help but notice how young this man looked. By his face, he couldn't be much past twenty; only his eyes betrayed - something. Age, experience. Young he may be, but he'd been through...Alex could only imagine. Life in the nineties; the world today left scars.

"What can I use to wrap this?"

"Cabinet, to the left - first aid supplies."

Carefully, he placed bandage pads over the two holes, wrapped several tight layers of gauze around Angel's abdomen. Two years of practice, and he hardly even noticed any difficulty performing this act one-handed. Angel offered no help, did not comment on the artificial hand Alex used to hold the bandages in place while he applied the gauze.

"Thank you." Angel pulled his shirt back down, stepped away. "Are you hungry? I don't have much on hand, but I think there are some delivery places still open."

Rule number two of life as Alex Krycek - never turn down free food. Eating could quickly become a rare enough event. "Sure. Pizza sounds good."

As lunatic as it seemed, Alex was finding himself relaxing a little towards Angel. If this man meant him harm, his methodology was so convoluted even Alex couldn't work his way through it. Against every instinct honed by years of being hunted by nearly every dangerous organization in the world, Alex went back over to the couch and lay down.

"What would you like on it?"

"Anything. Everything. I don't care."

* * * * *

Angel ordered the pizza, using the pay phone across the hall. By the time he'd cradled the receiver and glanced back into his apartment, his guest had fallen asleep on the couch. Angel had practically been able to see the tension drain from him as he'd dressed Angel's wound - an unnecessary procedure, but any explanation for why it was unneeded would only have raised more questions. More at ease, it seemed exhaustion had overtaken the man.

Asleep, his face relaxed into an almost innocent expression. He lost the wariness, the sharpness of expression and carriage that had been there since Angel had first seen him come into the alley. There was a softness about him when he slept that was completely absent when the man was awake. Something about him evoked every protective instinct Angel had. Maybe it was because of the ambush; maybe it was because of the way he seemed ready to flee at the slightest threat; or maybe it was the combination of softness and counterphobia that reminded Angel just a little of Buffy.

Five men. Someone considered this creature so dangerous as to require five men to catch him. It was an interesting mystery to Angel, but he could hardly consider the man a threat. Dangerous, probably, but there had been a gentleness when he'd cleaned Angel's bullet wounds that convinced Angel there was something here worth saving.

He watched his guest sleep, taking in the soft fall of his short cropped dark hair, the even rise and fall of his chest, the slight flush of his bronze skin - it was possible he had a slight fever. All things put together, this man was beautiful, missing arm and all. It was not a very gentlemanly thing to be thinking about; this was a guest in his house, very much at his mercy, but it was a difficult thing to overlook.

* * * * *

The pizza guy's knock on the door woke Alex back up with a start. He rubbed his eyes blearily with his good hand, watched as Angel paid the boy and set the box down on the coffee table in front of Alex. "Here."

Alex opened the box, snagged a slice, and was halfway through it before he realized Angel was making no move to eat. "Aren't you having any?"

"I'm not hungry."

"So you're just going to watch me eat?"

Angel shrugged - a beautiful motion that rippled along the well defined muscles of his - no. Alex was not going to allow his thoughts to move in that direction. Just because it had been a long, long time since anyone had shown kindness to Alex, and just because this gorgeous, brooding stranger had offered him sanctuary, and just because the small spark of humanity that still burned in Alex Krycek despite his efforts to quench it still craved the simple connection of touch - it was still too dangerous. To lower his guard like that, even once, would dull him. The hunters had found him once already; there was no reason to give them any additional edge. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I could go in the other room."

"No," Alex smiled. "No, it's fine." The smile, friendly and guileless was one Alex had spent so many years perfecting, it came to him naturally. He knew it looked real, made him look friendly, harmless. He'd worked hard, hours in front of mirrors retooling the expression until it was just so. It was impossible to tell if the smile had any effect on Angel - he remained as stoic as when Alex had been swabbing at the hole in his gut.

The pizza was almost entirely gone by the time Alex felt full. It had been a while since Alex had felt safe enough to stuff himself, and cash was tight since his employers had gone up in alien-induced bursts of flame. Pizza was considered a luxury item these days, and not on his budget, causing it to taste like the most wonderful thing Alex had tasted in years.

Fed, comfortable, relaxed - Alex simply couldn't recall the last time he'd felt this way. "Is there something you want from me, Angel?" It was the only question Alex cared about any more, the only one that mattered. He was ready to hear the answer now, prepared to face whatever would be asked of him. Rule number three of life as Alex Krycek - everything came at a price.

But Angel didn't seem to be playing the game, didn't seem to know the rules. "Nothing." His face cracked then, just slightly, but there was the barest hint of a smile, of amusement. "Well, maybe one thing."

Here it was. "What's that?"

"You could tell me your name."

"Alex." It popped out without a second thought, the request was so unexpectedly simple. "Alex."

Angel nodded at that. "Good. Alex, as I said earlier, you're welcome to stay-"

"Why?" He couldn't hold it back, couldn't figure out the game Angel was playing. "Why are you doing this? What do you want?"

"I told you; I don't want anything. You just looked like you could use some help."

It was impossible, unthinkable, that anyone's motives could be that pure. "You do this often? Wander around the city till someone sends up the bat signal and then you drop in and rescue them?"

"I was there; you needed help; I helped you."

"You don't even know me."

Angel picked up the pizza box, folded it with an ease that reminded Alex once again how strong this man was, then stuck it in the trash. "I didn't think that while they were beating you was the best time to ask for an introduction."

"Okay, I can see your point." The entire situation was insane, and Alex was tired of fighting it. If Angel was determined to be inscrutable, then that was fine; Alex didn't need to understand. He'd just accept that this was all crazy and move on. The entire world was crazy; what was one more lunatic citizen to Alex Krycek?

Crazy. Alex felt like laughing. That impulse, he bit down as the obvious sign of lunacy that it was. He was on the edge - on the edge - on the edge, but he had confidence that if he hadn't cracked yet, he probably wasn't going to. Although sometimes he wondered if he'd just give in and go quietly - or loudly mad, if he wouldn't be a whole lot happier. After all, it seemed to have worked so well for Mulder....

Another bad direction to be thinking. Maybe he should take Angel up of the offer of shelter for the night. He was exhausted, edgy, far from the top of his form. Here, in the presence of this enigmatic Titan, for whatever unfathomable reason, he felt somewhat safer than in the world outside.

Alex stood, faced Angel. "I'll stay."

Angel nodded, as though Alex had finally conceded a point Angel had been arguing all night. "In there, the bed's yours, if you want it."

"Where are you going to sleep?"

"I don't sleep much."

He didn't sleep much. This man randomly rescued one-armed expatriate conspirators from corrupt thugs, brought them back to his own living room and offered them pizza. On top of it, he didn't seem to mind bullet holes in his side and he didn't sleep much. Sure. Why not? "Me neither."

"I can tell."

"Yeah, well, my active lifestyle is wreaking havoc on my boyish good looks."

They stood silent, staring at each other, tension hanging heavy in the air between them. Then Alex did laugh, pulling a smile from Angel. "You haven't asked me anything - anything at all. Why is that?"

"I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"Sure. Of course. I mean, that's the obvious explanation." Too close; Alex was standing to close to this man, smiling, laughing. Too much.

Alex flinched back, his hand automatically reaching for his gun, as Angel lifted his hand to Alex's face. Angel didn't act as though he even noticed. Blunt fingers brushed across the bandage that circled his forehead. "You'll want to change that tomorrow before you go. I think the bleeding's stopped, but it's almost soaked through."

"I'll be sure and do that."

The hand lingered, and there was the barest hint of a stroke down his cheek, then Angel pulled away suddenly, withdrawing from Alex. "You should get some sleep."

"Yeah." Alex retreated into the bedroom, needing to escape from that moment of intimacy - needing it to go on and on - needing - needing to sleep, to find some sort of inner balance again, to plaster over the cracks that Angel was pounding into his defensive walls.

The room was small, but uncluttered. Alex had noticed Angel seemed to take a fairly minimalist approach to furniture and decorating. Basement apartment, there was only one small window that looked like it opened into a storm drain. At least he wouldn't have to worry about being awoken by the sun in his face. There was no mirror that Alex could see. Just as well; he wasn't sure he wanted to see how bad he looked right now, ragged, beaten, dragged out. He worked his way out of his jacket, tossed it in the corner. More carefully, he took off his shoulder holster, slid one gun under the pillow and lay the other one, still in its holster, on the floor beside the bed. "Hey, Angel?"

"What?" Angel called back from the other room.

"Would I be straining my welcome to ask to borrow a shirt or something so I don't get your bed dirty?" Any other piece of clothing Angel owned probably would never fit, but a baggy shirt was still a shirt.

Angel came into the room; his eyes flickered up and down Alex. He opened the narrow closet door, pulled a shirt from what seemed to be an endlessness of black, tossed it at Alex. "Thanks." Ignoring the way it pulled at his bruises, Alex jerked off his own torn, bloody, dirty black t-shirt. Angel's gaze went to his arm, the stump now clearly revealed where it strapped into the artificial limb. There was no revulsion in his eyes, merely curiosity.

"An interesting story there."

Angel looked up almost guiltily. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to stare."

"No problem. Doesn't bother me." Those endless dark eyes on him, watching unflinchingly. It made Alex feel strangely vulnerable - a fact that made no god-damn sense. Alex had no modesty to speak of, and had certainly been in positions of greater helplessness around this man this evening. But something about the way Angel was looking at him, something about standing there half-dressed, unarmed - both figuratively and literally, just...something. He picked up the clean t-shirt.

"When did this happen?" Angel took a step forward, lifted his hand hesitantly to touch the joint where Alex's arm met the plastic.

It was such an intimate gesture, full of gentle care - how long had it been since anyone had touched Alex like that, with any hint of familiarity or warmth? The hand holding the fresh shirt dropped to his side. "About two years ago. I was in Russia - these...terrorists were running experiments on the local populace. The group I was hiding with, they believed it all had something to do with small pox; if you had a vaccination mark, you could be taken for the experiments. Their solution was to...eliminate any chance they could tell if you'd been innoculated." Angel's fingertips were following the line of a tendon, up the short remains of Alex's bicep, over his shoulder. "They...they held me down...cut if off with a scalding saw."

His eyes flickered to Angel's face, trying to read what they saw there. Once again, this man could have been a statue for all the reaction he showed to Alex's story - a statue of marble and alabaster carved by a master for its beauty. There was no shock, no horror. "Does it hurt?" Even the question held only curiosity, concern, none of the disgust or dismay Alex had come to expect from people.

"Not any more." Who *was* this man, with the hobbies of Mother Theresa, the face of a dream, the touch of a saint, and a world-weary look in his eyes Alex had not seen since the last time he looked in a mirror? Maybe this was what happened when you went mad - all those people who wandered the streets talking to unseen companions - maybe Alex was one of them, still lying in that alley and experiencing some kind of fugue state.

This simply couldn't be real. But if it was - oh, God, if it was....

He lay his right hand over Angel's where it was still stroking - yes, stroking - his shoulder. Twining the fingers with his own, he brought it to his cheek, closing his eyes as Angel's fingers brushed down, slid under his chin. Alex couldn't remember the last time he's willingly - fearlessly - closed his eyes with another person in the room with him. "Alex -" When had his name become so sensuous? "This isn't why I brought you back here, why I invited you to stay."

What was it about Angel that when he said that, Alex could believe him? Maybe it was the hesitancy, the way he'd been handling Alex all night as though he were unbearably fragile, the way, even now, he was holding back.

But Alex was anything but delicate, and maybe it was time to explain that to Angel. If Alex wanted - and Jesus, he wanted - he was going to have to invite Angel to take some liberties. The best way to do that, Alex had discovered, was to start taking liberties of his own.

His hand released Angel's, and Alex moved it to Angel's chest, slid it downward, over Angel's hips, and down his thigh. The leather of his pants was soft like skin under his touch - expensive. "The question, my Angel, is not whether or not you brought me back here for this; it's if you're going to kick me out because of this."

"No." The answer was spoken in that same soft, sensuous voice, and Alex decided his one goal for the night was to evoke...something on that beatific face.

He slid down to his knees before Angel, letting his hand trail over Angel's ass, down the outside of his leg, around the calf. He rested his cheek against Angel's crotch, tilted his head up to draw his tongue across the line where leather became flesh under Angel's shirt. There was the coppery taste of blood, and Alex kissed away the last traces he'd missed with the washcloth.

One-handed, the tight pants proved to be a challenge. Once he had them unfastened, it was difficult to work them off Angel's hips only being able to pull on one side at a time. At the point he smacked himself in the face with the free-swinging buckle of Angel's belt, Alex gave up on both independence and stubbornness. Dignity was best reserved for times when he wasn't trying to hurry along the process of getting laid. "A little help here would be nice," he growled.

As though he'd only been waiting for the request, Angel immediately had his hands on the seams, managing to squirm out of the leather with more grace than Alex would have imagined possible for such a feat. With his boots still on, the pants could only go as far as Angel's ankles, but that was far enough for Alex. He had a hold of Angel's cock in half a second; it was in his mouth by the next.

Alex had always thought there was something intrinsically sleazy and wonderful about the feel of a man's cock hardening between his lips. He stroked with his tongue, resting his hand against Angel's solid thigh to balance himself. Letting it slip from his mouth, Alex rubbed his face against the now solid erection as he ran his tongue over Angel's balls, nibbled at the soft skin at the top line of Angel's leg, kissed over the pulsing vein that showed in sharp contrast against the pale skin of Angel's thigh.

Angel's legs were locked, but he reached for no other support. Good. Alex admired a man who could stand and take a blowjob. But this wasn't quite what he wanted. He unfastened his own pants, rolled to his feet. "You wanna-" The words were choked off as Angel grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close for a kiss. It was almost the most frightening thing to happen to Alex all night. Sex was one thing - dangerous, but still a basic human response and sometimes handy to clear the brain. Alex was far too practical to obsess over mistakes already made. But this was...this was much more dangerous. Kissing was what you did to seduce enemies, never something to be done with someone Alex didn't hate. It was too much closeness, too much - God, the way this man kissed - making Alex's knees buckle. Intense and desperate and powerful...but there was still that hint of restraint. Angel was still holding back on him.

Locked in Angel's embrace, his tongue warring with Angel's for dominance, Alex managed to shed what remained of his clothing. Angel also managed to kick his way free of both footwear and legwear, as Alex pushed the coat back from Angel's shoulders, worked his hand in under Angel's shirt. He pulled Angel back towards the bed, conceding it might have been an impossible feat if Angel hadn't been willing - the man had more than a few inches and pounds on Alex, and was so fucking incredibly strong. They fell, and Alex felt Angel wince as Alex's knee hit his wounded side, but Angel's kisses didn't lose any intensity.

Alex fought his way free of Angel's mouth and slid back down to continue his attention to Angel's erection. Running his tongue up and down the shaft, Alex rubbed his thumb around the head, smearing the pre-cum around. This was garnering a response - low, throaty moans from Angel which bit off into a gasp as Alex took the whole thing in his mouth. He pulled back again, and this time Angel's hand on the back of his head kept him from going far. Twisting, he looked up at Angel's face - now narrow eyed and open mouthed with pleasure. Score one for Alex. "I want you to fuck me."

"I don't have any-"

"I don't care. Fuck me." Working himself into position, legs spread, beneath Angel, Alex wrapped his legs around Angel's waist, pulling him down. Angel hesitated for a moment, searching Alex's face, then thrust into him.

Saliva was hardly proper lubrication. It hurt - shit, it hurt. But pain was good; it reminded Alex he was still alive, still in the game, despite the efforts of the entire world. He cried out, throwing his head back, locking his legs tight when Angel tried to withdraw. "Harder," he demanded through clenched teeth.

Angel complied, thrusting farther in with every stroke. His lips were on Alex's neck, Alex's mouth, Alex's jaw. Lines of pleasure began mingling with the pain, making Alex writhe against Angel in waves of sensation. He bit at Angel's shoulder as his climax exploded inside him, screamed against Angel's skin, held on desperately to Angel, searching for some sort of anchor.

Angel wrapped his arms around Alex, stroked his hair, eased him back down onto the bed. "You should sleep."

"I'm still not sure I believe in you." Mulder would laugh if he were here - everything Krycek had been through, and he was still a skeptic.

"Worry about it tomorrow. For now, just let me believe in you."

It made no sense. Nothing made sense, and Alex was so goddamned tired. For the first time in forever, he let himself surrender to the feel of warmth surrounding him, the soothing touch of a lover, the exhaustion that had been his constant companion for what felt like years. Everything faded away as sleep claimed him. 

 

* * *

 

Disclaimers and warnings: These characters are not mine; I am only using them for fun, not for -or profit. This story is rated NC-17 and involves hot, sweaty, unairable-on-late-night-Showtime homoerotic sex, so if this kind of thing bothers you, go talk to your Sunday school teacher, write your Congressman - don't complain to me.  
Series: In the Dark of the Night (X-Files/Angel)  
Long awaited sequel to "The Witching Hour"  
Pairing: Angel/Krycek  
Spoilers: Potentially for up to season 6 X-Files and season 3 Buffy, as well as the first season episodes of Angel through "Heroes".  
Permission granted to archive wherever, just let me know, please.  
Previous installments of this series can be found at http://www.frontierz.com/socket  
Any comments, questions, or criticism can be sent to 

* * *

"Night Terrors"  
by Barbara J. Webb

Alex awoke alone - hardly a new experience. An automatic check of his surroundings showed both guns still where he had left them the night before. He stretched, forcing his joints to where they popped, relentlessly demanding of his body more than it was eager to give. There was pain, but Alex was used to that. Everything moved when he told it to; everything worked - that was all that mattered.

The stump of his left arm was sore. The artificial arm tended to chafe when it was worn all night, but it was habit now to sleep in it - too many places where he might have to make a quick exit. Last night, he should have taken it off. If he felt safe enough to sleep naked, he should have taken advantage of the sensation and taken everything off. Hindsight.

Rolling out of bed, Alex squinted against the dim light of the room. He imagined it must be daytime, but there seemed to be no windows in the basement apartment. Creeping into the living room, he saw Angel asleep on the couch. Judging by the scattered shape of the sheets in the bed, Alex imagined he'd been sleeping restlessly; Angel must have left to get some peace. Or maybe he was the type of guy who would bring strangers home, feed them, fuck them, but not sleep next to them.

In the bathroom, stashed in the back of a cobwebby cabinet, was the only mirror Alex could find in the entire apartment, and upon seeing his reflection, Alex wished it hadn't been there either. He looked like someone who'd been jumped in a back alley and beaten half to death. A large bruise was purpling on his cheek, a split lip was swollen almost to the point of discomfort. All down his body, red and black marks dotted his skin like plague spots. Ugly - he'd probably gain a couple more scars from this encounter - but nothing was broken, no permanent damage. Small miracles.

A long, almost scalding hot shower dulled the residual ache in his muscles to a level easily ignored. It felt good to be clean, good to be leisured. He was alive for at least one more day, and that was a good thing too. Angel was still sleeping when Alex was dry and dressed again.

He debated waking Angel, but couldn't justify it to himself. Best to just go, shut this away as an all-too-rare pleasant memory. Those few Alex had, he hoarded deep within himself, taking them out only when he desperately needed some small comfort in the dark and cold, letting their warmth wash over him, and then just as carefully storing them away in the back of his mind again. It was time to lock this one away, to be brought out again and examined, relived once he was far enough away there would be no temptation to...to do anything. Desire, longing, closeness, affection - all these were dangerous, crippling, and entirely avoidable.

Slipping silently from the apartment, Alex locked and closed the door, shoving all thoughts of Angel down into the depths of the untouchable.

* * * * *

Alex was taking obvious pains to be quiet, so Angel lay there, eyes closed, and let his guest believe him to be asleep. If Alex wanted to sneak out, Angel certainly wasn't going to force a confrontation. This man was obviously plagued by his own demons, but if he wasn't ready to ask for help, it might do more harm than good than to offer it. Obviously, trust was not a concept that came easily to Alex.

Not that Angel couldn't keep an eye out for him. Quietly, surreptitiously. Last night, after Alex had fallen asleep, Angel had gone back out, back to the alley. There'd been no trace of the men - no evidence, even, of the fight that had occurred. Angel couldn't make sense of it all yet, but there was obviously some sort of force at work - something big - connected somehow to Alex. And it was in Angel's city, which made it Angel's concern.

That was the extent of his involvement. It had nothing to do with the beautiful, mysterious stranger that had slept the night curled under the blanket on Angel's bed, tossing and calling out every couple hours. The man with the wariness of a cornered animal who smelled of fear and had pressed against Angel with desperation, clung to Angel in the throes of passion, pulled Angel closer as he'd fallen towards sleep rather than pulling away. He was just another face, another soul in jeopardy for Angel to give aid and then move on.

Why didn't that sound convincing?

A change of clothes and a made bed, and the apartment had lost all traces that Alex had been there. That was just how Angel needed it to be.

* * * * *

The evening was well on by the time Alex made his way into the club, although he was still early for the meeting he had set up with his contact. That was good; Alex liked to have plenty of time to get a feel for his surroundings.

He took cover among the throng of people already filling the popular dance club, surrendering to the motion of the crowd. Keeping his eyes open, he let the tide carry him towards the bar, his hand always close to his gun. Just in case. It never paid to relax too much, no matter how well he thought he'd covered his tracks. Peotr knew he would be here, which meant anyone could know. Rule number four of life as Alex Krycek - everyone sold out eventually.

Ironic: this was the same place he'd been on his way to months ago when those bastards sent by the old man had jumped him. And here he was back, more bruises on his face and a broken rib to boot. But this time when he'd been jumped in the darkness, there's been no Good Samaritan swooping from the shadows to help him.

That thought was shoved down as quickly as it popped into his mind.

A corner table from which he could watch the door, the dance floor, was ideal, but the only two spots in the club matching that description were occupied - one by a drunk looking pair of punks, and the other by a gaggle of sorority girls. Opting for charm rather than the dubious hope of intimidating the inebriated, Alex wormed his way over to the girls' table, summoned up his most pleasant smile, and asked if they had a free chair.

After two rounds of drinks, conversation so banal Alex felt like he'd stepped into an episode of Beverly Hills 90210, and several offers of phone numbers, the girls decided to move on to another club. As politely as he could, Alex turned down their invitation to join them and waved good-bye. The table was his. Now was the time to look menacing - he didn't want any company until someone showed up with information.

Several times, the waitress wandered by, but Alex waved her away. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting was the hardest part, one Alex should have been used to by now, but he was not a naturally patient person. His career had required him to develop the knack, but he had never internalized it the way he had so many skills. When there was nothing to do but wait, his brain refused to stop working, stop examining, and when he was no longer simply reacting, but thinking, that was always when the fear came, the helplessness, the sense that he was only one man against something so much greater than himself....

Mulder probably never felt this way. Mulder probably never woke up terrified in the middle of the night. Mulder probably slept like a baby, with no hint of the nightmares that swam in the darkness behind Alex's eyes. Mulder was insane, but seemed so happy within his insanity Alex couldn't help but think maybe Mulder had chosen his path with more wisdom than Alex.

A familiar face in the blurred mass of bodies before him banished the dark train of thought. "Alexei," a familiar voice chided, pitched low enough to be private as the man joined Alex at the table, "you look awful."

"I've been worse." Alex leaned forward so that he could be heard over the noise of the club. "What happened last night?"

The older Russian man nodded, scooting his chair around so he was right next to Alex, not coincidentally putting his back to the wall. "It is a dangerous world, my young friend - no less so for men like you and I."

Friend. One of the few people Alex trusted just a little: Peotr was a retired - rather, escaped - agent of the KGB - the agent that had been responsible, in fact, for teaching Alex, after the old man had decided Krycek would have the talent to do the dangerous work of a double agent. Triple agent. Spy within a spy, traitor within a traitor. Whatever Alex was, Peotr had once cared about him, and had been one of the primary reasons Alex had run to Los Angeles. Best not to squander those few Alex felt he could predict, if not necessarily trust completely. Peotr might sell him out to the Russians, but probably never to Alex's real enemies.

"Someone knew about the deal - that it was going down last night."

Peotr nodded, his eyes lazily scanning the room. "Any idea who sold you out?"

"I was told your people were the only ones who would know about it. So you tell me."

"This is a strange town, Alexei. Even for those of us who know the score - maybe especially. Sometimes, things happen and it's better not to ask questions."

Better not to ask questions. Sometimes things happen. Alex had heard that before. "What, is the old man in on this?"

There was a hint of fear showing through Peotr's casual mask. Fear on the face of an agent who had been nearly as deeply embroiled in the conspiracy as Alex himself - it served as more of a cautionary message than anything the man could have ever said. "There is a power here. Most of the time, it operates on a different level than you and I. Most of the time, its concerns are not our business. When that is not the case, best to just walk away."

It wasn't enough. Alex had only survived as long as he had by asking questions better left ignored, by finding information better left forgotten. Knowledge was power, and no one knew that better than Alex. "Those goons that jumped me last night - it was like they were on something."

"They weren't human, I suspect."

Not human. The sickness - the black oil - the aliens. "Are you sure?" No sign of the sinking horror Alex felt at that pronouncement showed on his face, in his eyes; only the slightest hitch of his breath betrayed his reaction, and in the blaring noise of the room, that went unnoticed. Peotr might have gotten so sloppy as to go around bearing his feelings so openly, but this situation was becoming more dangerous to Alex with every new piece of information, and any unnecessary weakness might be enough to get him killed. Rule number five of life as Alex Krycek - fear was a part of life, so get-fucking-over-it.

"Very sure. Alexei,.if these men are after you...." Peotr's gaze fell away dismissively, a meaning that was clear to Alex - the expatriate agent already considered Alex to be counted among the dead. Certainly, he would not be the first - and probably not even the last, to incorrectly hold that opinion, and Alex currently had larger concerns that what Peotr considered his life expectancy to be.

"Thanks, Peotr. I'll let you know how it all turns out."

"Good luck."

The old Russian man disappeared into the crowd, leaving Alex once more alone with the throbbing music and his pounding thoughts, once again fighting to keep the fear at a level that still allowed him to function. So much for the hope that his life would let him just walk away from it. If the aliens were involved....

But those goons hadn't been like any aliens Alex had ever seen. There's been no blackness swimming in their eyes; their blood had been as red as Alex's; no one had sewn their eyes and mouths together. Didn't fit the profile. Which meant either Alex was hopelessly out of the loop, and there was some new breed of bad guy working with the men from beyond - possible, but not likely - or Peotr's information hadn't been correct.

But if they hadn't been aliens - they'd been strong, fast, inhumanly so. And their faces...something had been very wrong about their faces. It was dark, and it had all happened so fast, but Alex could have sworn they had fangs. If Alex hadn't dropped his cargo and booked out of there, chances were he wouldn't still be walking tonight.

Danger, danger Will Robinson.

Shoving away from the table, Alex worked his way cautiously towards the bar, snaking his way through the fringes of the dance crowd.

* * * * *

"Cordelia, what happened to those...Cordelia?"

A hand waved at Angel from behind the desk as Cordelia clawed her way back to her feet. "I should get hazard pay for these things."

Another vision then. "What is it?"

"A place - big and dark. Looked like a warehouse. There was a sign. It looked like...wookie?"

"Woken, possibly?"

"Yeah, that was it. How did you know?"

Woken Enterprises was a shipping company with a large warehouse on the waterfront. Well known for their mafia involvement, Kate had mentioned them several times, back when they had been on speaking terms. "Was there any more than that?"

"It was dark. I couldn't see much."

"Stay here. If Wesley shows up, have him see what he can dig up on these people."

"You know, I can dig too," Cordelia called after him, but he was already out the door.

There was no obvious activity in the building when Angel arrived. The car he left down the row, inconspicuously behind a large pile of crates, as he approached stealthily on foot. Vampire senses were on full alert; his eyes scanned the windows for a shadow, ears strained for a sound - his entire body focused on finding some hint of the reason he was brought here.

The smallest flicker of light in an upper corner window drew Angel's attention. Most likely it was from a flashlight, carefully shielded - the amount of light leaked would only be visible to preternatural senses. Someone was inside and taking great pains to keep from being spotted.

A maze of pipes and steel bars wound its way up one grey wall of the warehouse. A mortal man would have found the climb difficult, but Angel scaled the building's side with silence and speed unmatched by any living being. Pulling himself onto the roof, Angel crouched for a moment...still...listening. Whatever disturbance Cordelia had seen, there was still no evidence that it was on its way.

He might as well have been floating, for all the noise he made crossing the roof. Leaning over the edge until he was almost completely upside down, Angel was just barely able to see into the room from where the light had come. There was a person in there, wrapped in the shadows, but the faint illumination was enough for Angel to make out his features.

There was a part of Angel that had been watching for this face, expecting to see it around corners, in windows, on the street, so the instant recognition of this nocturnal prowler wasn't a complete surprise. It seemed Alex was at risk once again, and this time the Powers that Be had decided Angel was to be his guardian.

* * * * *

The security on the computer was good, but Alex was better. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he leaned in close to the monitor, squinting to make out words on the screen turned down almost as dark as it could go. He combed through the hard drive, copying or ignoring file after file with decisions based on instinct and experience - there was no time for the luxury of careful perusal.

Leaving the computer to its copying, Alex jimmied the lock on the file cabinet and began flipping through folders. This was slower work; if he actually stole papers, someone would notice, so only something that held critical information would be worth risking either the theft or the light created from scanning the document.

"Alex."

In the fraction of a second it took Alex to turn, thoughts jumbled on top of themselves in his brain - why didn't I hear - too slow - going to die - know that voice. A marble white hand dropped over the muzzle of Alex's gun just as Alex had it trained on the spot the voice had come from. "Don't shoot."

Alex didn't care one little bit for the wave of warmth that swept through him at the sound of that voice. It was just another form of weakness, nothing to be welcomed. "Let go of my gun." Instinctively, he kept his voice pitched at the same low level of whisper Angel had been speaking at, ears trained for some hint of any other presences in the darkness beyond the office door.

Angel released his hold on Alex's gun, stepped back a pace to put a more comfortable - to Alex - distance between them. "You need to get out of here."

Who was this man? Swooping down out of nowhere one night - one incredible night - and then disappearing for months, only to reappear the night after Alex had managed to get himself in another really bad spot. "I need to get what I came here to get."

The sudden tilt of Angel's head - a listening pose - put Alex on instant alert. "It's too late. They're here."

"Who?"

Angel was at the window, looking down. How fast could that man move? He seemed to dismiss that as a possible exit, turning back to face the door. There was the distinctive sound of a spring being released, and what looked to be long, rounded knives fell into Angel's hands from his sleeves. "Your gun won't do you any good."

No time for anything else, as four men burst through the half-open office door. Two of them were immediately recognizable to Alex - the monsters from last night. One of them, he remembered shooting several times, but he looked none the worse for it. There was no time to think as they divided - two coming towards him, the other two fanning out to flank Angel.

Fast. They were very fast. Not so much as Angel, but enough to make Alex wonder if Peotr hadn't been correct about that inhuman business after all. Human or not, Alex wasn't trapped in an alley this time, caught by surprise. When they came at him, Alex was ready, and if the past years had taught him anything, it was that a very human combination of stubbornness and desperation, combined with cold hard experience, could be an effective counter to almost any otherworldly advantage.

They were fast, but so was Alex. He stepped under his first assailant's rush in a move that was partially instinctive and brought his gun to bear in a much more calculated motion. Angel's warning and the evidence of his own eyes convinced him that bullets were not a permanent solution, but he had learned last night they would put an attacker out of the fight briefly.

He had time to squeeze three bullets from his Glock - all three exploding through the small of his first attacker's back - when he was struck from the side with enough force to send him flying into the wall. Lancing pain shot through his chest as a rib that had been merely bruised the night before actually cracked under the impact.

And the other guy was getting back up. Another shot - this time a solid neck hit - and Alex had earned himself a second or two of breathing room. His eyes darted to find Angel, to see how he was doing.

Angel seemed to be down to one opponent - where was the fourth man? No body anywhere - no broken window - Alex was right next to the door and would have seen it if the man had fled. Where?

And then...his answer. It made no sense; it made perfect sense. Angel stabbed one of his knives - that really looked more like a sharpened stick - through the heart of his one remaining attacker, and the man disappeared in a puff of dust. There was no time to think about the deeper meaning of the action: Alex simply did what he was best at and improvised. The switch-blade stiletto - always close at hand in case of alien encounters - was in his hand one moment, then in the heart of his own attacker the next.

Nothing happened. Again, no time was given Alex to puzzle through this as his assailant - entirely unslowed by the thin spike of metal lodged between his ribs, grabbed Alex by the shoulders and slammed his head back against the wall.

While they may not have been as fast as Angel, they were certainly as strong, and Alex's vision went dark for a split second. Reflexively, he pulled his gun once more free of its holster and unloaded the rest of his clip into the abdomen of the creature in front of him, causing the grip to relax just slightly.

It was enough, and Alex was on the ground, rolling away, then back on his feet. "Alex!" He spun and grabbed the stick out of the air as Angel sent it arching in his direction. Now, he knew what to do. No question, no hesitation, no confusion.

These men were strong and these men were fast, but Alex was a killer too, natural talent honed by years of training and practice. With a goal in mind and his life the prize, no creature - earthly or un - was going to stop him. He took another blow to the side and a nasty kick in his stomach before he could maneuver into a good striking position, but when the wooden pike sank deeply into his attacker's chest, Alex had the satisfaction of seeing the creature explode into nothingness same as the last one had.

Angel had already disposed of the fourth man and was at Alex's side in an instant. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. Great," Alex hissed through pain-gritted teeth. He retrieved both his stiletto and the gun where they had fallen to the ground. "I think we should get out of here."

"I believe I already said that."

The drawled snippiness of the words, the serene calm in the wake of happenings no sane mind would wrap around, that brooding, untouchable, wrapped-in-his-own-personal-darkness bearing - it could have been Mulder standing there in that black trench coat. That thought brought another unwelcome wave of feeling, followed closely by a dizziness Alex hoped desperately was more closely tied to the recent blows to the head he'd suffered rather than some overwhelming sentimentality. "I need my disks."

The pain in his side wasn't fading quickly, but it was the dull throb of a crack, not the sharp feel of a rib poking into an important internal organ. By now, Alex was intimately familiar with the meaning behind every ache of body. He retrieved his disks, shut down the computer, returned everything to the state in which he had found it. "Let's go."

Alex clutched the wooden spike tightly in his hand as they made their way cautiously out of the empty-seeming warehouse. Angel stopped just outside the door, seemed to be testing the scent of the air. "My car's this way. How did you come?"

"Mostly walked."

Angel nodded to himself, as though this only confirmed what he had expected, and started off in the direction of his car. Alex had to trot to keep up with those long, gliding strides, still not completely sure why he was following Angel. What did he think he was doing?

But Angel seemed to expect Alex to follow, and Alex didn't think right now he could get away from Angel if Angel didn't want him too. Even if Alex had seen no evidence in their two meetings that Angel had any desire to keep Alex where Alex didn't want to be, it seemed safer right now to just play it Angel's way.

Safer. Right. Dangerous to start lying to himself - that was the sort of thing that had gotten him into trouble with Mulder, with the old man, with the rebels. And Alex was more than capable of getting into plenty of trouble without internal dishonesty complicating things.

It was dangerous to go with Angel, for the simple reason that Alex wanted to so very, very much.

The ride through the night-colored streets of LA was a silent one. Angel said nothing, and Alex was busy processing what he'd just seen. On the grand scale of things, Alex had been through stranger encounters, but this seemed to fall well outside the scope of the usual weirdness with which Alex dealt.

He had a great many questions, but he couldn't quite bring himself to ask them, to break the silence and betray his ignorance. The last time they had met, Alex had never figured out what Angel's game was, and that was fine, but this was the second time Angel had come to Alex and it was becoming more important to know why. One of the most difficult lessons he'd learned in his job was that if one was patient, kept quiet, listened, often the answers one sought would come to you, but it had never been the easiest lessons to internalize.

"What were you doing there?"

Either Angel's patience was shorter than Alex's, or no one had ever explained to him that direct questions rarely resulted in direct answers. "Business." He didn't elaborate, and Angel said nothing more.

Once back at his place, Angel led Alex in the back door, helped Alex out of his jacket. So much for patience - the silence was getting to be too much for Alex. "So what now?"

"I guess that depends."

"On?"

"Whether or not you're going to tell me why you were at that warehouse."

Alex knew this game perfectly well, the 'keep him at arm's length' and 'keep everything business' dance. How many times had he and Mulder tried - and failed - to carry this off? "I was hired to do a job; there were complications."

Angel claimed a chair, his darkness pooling around him. "I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"I don't remember asking you for help." It was the automatic response, the fuck-you-I'm-Alex-can-take-care-of-myself-Krycek response. The truth of the matter was Alex felt like he was in completely over his head, and Angel seemed to be the man around here who knew which way was up. He'd certainly known how to deal with those monsters.

"You didn't." What was wrong here? What was so different, this meeting, from the last time Alex had stood here in this room? Last time, it had been so easy to relax around Angel; he'd felt safe, shielded against the storm of the outside world. Off-balanced, panicked, injured, and he'd still felt able to trust Angel. And that was at the heart of the problem. Alex couldn't relax around someone who made him feel like he should be able to trust.

There was still so much here he didn't understand. He'd been riding pretty high the last couple years, sure he knew every dark secret there was to know in the world, from the conspiracy to the alien rebels to the color of Mulder's boxers. Now that self-assurance was threatening to fall apart, swallowed by the dark secrets of LA which somehow managed to be unconnected to anything in the rest of the world. For the first time in years, Alex was the one fumbling through the shadows for answers - and this was a roll Mulder had always played so much more cheerfully than Alex.

And in the middle was Angel, playing the roll of the man who knew the secrets, who would be just where he needed to be at just the right time and then disappear into the night, who was playing his hand close to the chest, balancing his own hidden agenda against Alex's need to know - irony of ironies, he was playing the roll of Alex Krycek for this film.

Alex hated being the one who didn't know anything.

"I need to check on some things with my assistant." Angel had an assistant. Assistant what? "I'll be right back."

The 'wait here' was clearly implied. "I'll just make myself comfortable."

Wound up as he was, Alex couldn't help but watch Angel sweep out of the room. There was a powerful, predatory beauty to every move he made that called out to Alex. It called to mind flashes - memories - that night: the soft supple leather of Angel's pants, those solid, broad shoulders, Angel inside him, filling him-

This was going nowhere.

* * * * *

The elevator seemed to be moving slower than usual, and Angel paced back and forth as it climbed to the office level. He needed to put some distance between himself and Alex, remind himself this was business and nothing more than business. It was his job to help Alex, not to put Alex in more danger. Giving in to what Angel wanted to do: that wouldn't help Alex - wouldn't help either of them.

Last time - last time had been exquisite, but still a mistake. And so much had happened since then, Angel had locked that part of him down even tighter than before. But Alex was still beautiful and strong, frightened and fearless, dangerous and helpless, his blood and his body calling out to both demon and man in equal measure. So tempting...and so wrong.

Cordelia was still here, behind her desk, glaring at the computer. "What did you find out?"

At the sound of his voice, she jumped, startled. "Would you *not* sneak up on a person like that?" While Angel tried to find a suitable answer or apology, Cordelia hit a button that caused the printer to start working. "I did some digging - without Wesley - and found something interesting about your warehouse people."

Angel took the sheet from the printer, scanned over it. "They're represented by Wolfram and Heart?"

"Yup. I guess who better to run an import business than demons, right?"

"And Alex has gotten himself right in the middle of it, somehow."

Cordelia flipped the switch to shut the computer down - an obvious sign that she was done working for the night. "Alex? Who's Alex?"

"Our client."

"Is he the paying kind or non-paying kind?" When Angel kept his eyes on the paper, Cordelia let out a sigh. "I guess that means he's not paying. Which is fine," she added hastily when Angel gave her a sharp look. "We're the good guys and all."

Getting out from behind the desk, Cordelia snagged her jacket from where it was hanging. "It would just be nice, every now and again, to get visions of nice wealthy people in danger."

She left - not quite grumbling - and Angel locked the door behind her. That meant it was now just Angel and Alex, but Angel wasn't ready yet to go back down and face his overly-tempting houseguest.

If Doyle had been here, he would have laughed at Angel hiding in his office like this. If Doyle had been here, he would have known all the right things to say to get Alex to talk to them, trust them. If Doyle had been here....

Everything would be different.

Instead, it was Alex in his home, right down below, calling to Angel's hunger in a way that was so very dangerous. So different from anyone else. That one mad night together, where he'd shown all the vulnerability and aching sweetness of Buffy; that look in his eyes, the way he fought, with all the deadly, predatory skill of any vampire; so few people ever called so arousingly to both the darkness and the light that resided within Angel, spoke to both killer and saint.

All this, and Angel only barely knew the man. A beautiful, perilous enigma - that was Alex. Face of an angel and eyes of a killer - it was almost like looking in the mirror.

And Angel wasn't quite ready to face that. Better to just sit here in the dark.

Alone.

Without Buffy. Without Doyle. Without anyone he could hurt that badly, betray so cruelly, fail so utterly.

If he went back down there, the hunger would only grow. Too much proximity to Alex and Angel might give in to the desires that man awoke in him. Better to just sit, let the time pass, let the silence and the darkness draw him into its spell until his mind was almost empty. Silent and empty of thoughts. Nothing.

Until he heard Alex calling out from the basement.

* * * * *

At first, the hands shaking him and voice speaking his name just seemed part of the nightmare. He fought, struggled, tried to get free. "Alex - Alex." That voice - the voice - familiar - not the old man, not Mulder, not one of the aliens....

His eyes flew open, but it took a moment for his brain to register the face that was before his own. "Angel."

The hands on his shoulders loosened, and Angel pulled away. "Are you all right?"

"Sure, fine." He'd fallen asleep on the couch, had no idea how long he'd been sleeping before his nightmare had drawn Angel's attention. "What time is it?"

"Who's Mulder?"

That question, so close on the heels of his dream, of the blackness, simply made Alex's brain freeze up. A bad night, too many questions, too many blows to the head, too much. He simply stared at Angel.

"I'm sorry. Is that a bad question?"

Alex got up off the couch, unconsciously rubbing what was certain to be a large bruise spreading across his right breast. "Do you have anything to drink around here?"

"Coffee - upstairs."

Waiting - waiting - this waiting game was getting Alex nowhere. His patience was about to shatter, and Angel didn't seem any closer to offering Alex information than in the warehouse. "How did you find me?"

"This is my living room."

Alex couldn't tell if Angel was making a joke or not. "No, I mean, in the warehouse. How did you know I would be there?"

"I didn't. I just knew there was going to be trouble."

"How?"

"I'd really rather not say."

That answer was...funny. Not really, but under the circumstances, it made Alex want to laugh. The simple, straight-forward denial of information - no bargains, no threats, no word-games, just a refusal to answer. It was so...honest.

He did laugh - couldn't stop himself - and Angel simply raised his eyebrows. "You realize, if you're not going to tell me anything, and I'm not going to tell you anything, I might as well go home."

"I wish you wouldn't."

The words were spoken so quickly, Alex suspected Angel might not have entirely meant to say them. "Why?"

As Angel stood, Alex took an automatic step back, needing so badly to keep a distance between them. "I'm supposed to be helping you."

"Supposed to? What does that mean? Who do you work for?"

"I don't work for anyone. I just...help people."

"Nobody just helps people."

"I do." Something in Angel's eyes held Alex captive as Angel stepped towards him, put a hand in his hair, dragged his head forward into a kiss.

He should have struggled, should have fought, shouldn't have simply surrendered to Angel's tongue sliding along his, stroking, tasting, but that would have required a greater amount of strength than Alex was able to muster right now. Possibly greater than Alex possessed, if the solid grip on the back of his neck, the arm locked around his shoulders was any indication. Angel didn't seem eager to let Alex go, and Alex was certain he couldn't break away from Angel's greater strength if Angel didn't want him to.

The kiss was wonderful; the kiss was terrible. It was what Alex had been dreaming about for months, what he had feared more than anything when he had first heard Angel's voice earlier that night. Desire was a weakness - desire for one person in specific could be crippling. Look at how his attachment to Mulder had nearly destroyed his life. And now this man - this dark, brooding, dangerous man, who after one simple night of a rescue and sex had rooted himself in Alex's brain - this man threatened the freedom Alex had sought by getting the hell out of DC.

He sucked Angel's lower lip into his mouth, pressed it against his teeth, ran his tongue along the soft edge of it. Around him, Angel's arms grew tighter, almost painfully. Alex's hips ground against Angel's, causing the leather to creak. Angel's fingers dug into his hair, gripped, pulled - and that was painful, but Alex wasn't about to complain.

It felt like home.

His hand fumbled at the buttons of Angel's shirt, searching for the cool skin underneath. Angel's mouth pressed more firmly against his, Angel's tongue circling possessively. The effect was dizzying; Alex felt as though his entire consciousness was being sucked out through those soft, lush lips.

"Are you going to tell me this time that this wasn't why you brought me here?"

Angel's head pulled back, but his grip on Alex's hair and shoulders didn't loosen. "I'm not going to tell you that." With his thumb, Angel stroked the outline of Alex's ear. "Is this why you came?"

"There's not really a quick, easy answer to that." His reply seemed to satisfy Angel, who leaned back in for another soul-deep kiss.

As Angel released his mouth again, Alex couldn't bite back a whimper at the loss. "Angel-"

"Here." Angel pulled him in the direction of the bedroom, a welcome direction for Alex who felt like any minute now his knees might give way.

Past the threshold of the bedroom door, Angel grabbed Alex by the shoulders, pushed him down onto the bed. Automatically, Alex's legs came up to wrap around Angel's waist as the beautiful man pulled his t-shirt free of his jeans and began to slide his hands over Alex's stomach. The hands were followed by Angel's mouth, moving slowly, wanderingly up Alex's torso. Angel sucked along the line of Alex's ribs, causing Alex to hiss as he found bruised spots and pleasure zones alike. Alex rubbed his jeans-covered groin against Angel's bare chest, helpless against Angel's strength and Angel's touch to do anything else.

As Angel pushed it farther up, Alex's shirt tangled with the holster of his gun and the strap of his arm. "Wait," Alex gasped, trying to force pleasure-lobotomized fingers to work at buckles. He managed to get his arm unhooked, but Angel seemed to have lost patience - a sharp tug and the holster strap snapped and was flung across the room. Alex's t-shirt was pulled roughly over his head and sent in a similar direction.

Alex arched himself up, straining, pressing harder against the mouth that had fastened over one of his nipples. He hardly noticed his jeans being unfastened, but when one of Angel's big, deft hands wrapped around Alex's throbbing erection, he practically screamed.

Then Angel's mouth was sliding down his cock, stroking and sucking with the same maddening skill with which he kissed. The light in the room seemed to dim, and Alex could only cling to Angel's shoulder as waves of long-repressed pleasure wracked his body.

As he came slowly back to his senses, he became aware of the sharp, coppery taste in his mouth. It felt like he'd bitten open a cut on his much-abused mouth. A small price to pay. Angel moved back up, drew Alex into another deep kiss, sucking on Alex's tongue as hungrily as he'd been sucking on other parts of Alex not moments before.

It was all good - so very, very good. Angel's fingers were digging deeply into his ass, pulling him against the erection Alex could feel plainly through Angel's leather pants. Angel was sucking on his lip; the light pain of it told Alex he had found the split. Angel's teeth grazed down his neck.

It wasn't easy to do one-handed, but he freed Angel's cock from the confines of clothing, closed his hand around the base of it. Instinctively, Angel pumped against his grip with hard, animal thrusts. Angel's tongue ran along Alex's lip again, and Alex opened his eyes.

It was the sort of moment that might have rattled another man, looking up to see that Angel's face, his eyes, his teeth had changed. Changed to look like the monsters that had attacked Alex.

Angel was one of them.

But Alex didn't rattle easily, and right now, if he'd discovered that Angel was really one of the green-blooded shape-shifters from beyond, he still wouldn't have let go of the pulsing organ in his hand. Twice now, Angel had saved Alex, and if Angel happened to be some sort of unnatural creature that would give Mulder a hard-on six ways from Sunday, then Alex was hardly in a position to be judgmental. Instead, he leaned up to kiss Angel again.

Angel's entire body shook with the force of his orgasm, fingers digging into Alex's skin hard enough he was sure they were going to leave bruises. But what was a bruise or two between friends?

Almost immediately, Angel rolled off him and sat up, his face turned away from Alex. "Are you all right?"

"Haven't felt this good in a long time." The words were flippant, Alex's mouth moving on auto-pilot to cover the stab of longing he'd felt when Angel had pulled away. Rule number six of life as Alex Krycek - too much sentimentality would only get you dead.

But he wasn't ready when Angel turned back around and traced a gentle finger down the side of his face - a simple gesture of affection a hundred times more threatening and frightening to Alex than the fangs Angel had been wearing moments ago. "You look tired. You should probably sleep."

"You going to stay in here with me this time?" Alex wasn't entirely sure what the answer was he wanted to hear.

Angel kicked free of his clothes, stretched out beside Alex. Rather than answering aloud, he pulled Alex against his chest, leaned down to kiss Alex lightly on the forehead.

It was too much - the final blow to all the cracks Angel had put in Alex's sanity. He pressed against Angel, buried his face against Angel's shoulder - knowing this was neither safe nor intelligent, but simply no longer caring.

* * * * *

The feel of a warm, living body pressed against Angel's was hypnotically comfortable. This hadn't been his intention - not at all. Not touching Alex, not kissing Alex - certainly not wrapping around Alex as Alex slept. That was the sort of thing one did with a lover, and Angel couldn't afford anything like that.

But something about this man broke through his resolve, destroyed his judgment, awakened every protective instinct Angel had in one breath and dragged Angel to the knife's edge of killing him in the next.

Angel was almost certain he'd felt the demon awaken, but his own passion and the demons were so closely tied together when it came to this man, it was hard to say for certain. Alex certainly hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss, so perhaps all was well.

Or nothing was well, as he stroked the hair of the sleeping man cradled in his arms. Angel was no longer sure. All he knew was that, at this moment, it felt far too good to let go.


End file.
